


For All But A Lack of Grace

by KasakiKihoya



Series: Grace and Devotion [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasakiKihoya/pseuds/KasakiKihoya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Harry Potter was bested by Voldemort in his second year there is little room for hope. Draco Malfoy is in the thick of it all, with Voldemort living in his home and his first task finally upon him. As he returns to Hogwarts to set Voldemort's final plan in motion he comes to see that things are not as black and white as they first appeared. HP/DM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Never-Ending Nightmare

# Chapter One – A Never-Ending Nightmare

 

He awoke to screaming.

Draco Malfoy shut his eyes again in what he knew by now was a futile attempt to block out the agony filling his ears. His hair stood on end and his flesh broke out in the bumps of terror that he was so used to having. He knew beyond a doubt that the Death Eaters must have found a new victim to torture into insanity. Judging by the voice it was likely a man. Draco’s stomach gave a violent lurch as he pictured what was likely happening to the poor bloke. He forced the images down into the recesses of his mind, not feeling keen to ruin his sheets this morning.

Draco ignored the chronic tremors and muscle weakness he had suffered all summer at the Manor and dragged his body out of bed. He could feel the cold sweat that dampened his hair and groaned. At least it was an excuse to escape into the shower. It had to be short though, seeing as he had a meeting with the Dark Lord himself after breakfast. Draco wasn’t sure he should eat at all, but it was a chance to see his parents. It was a small comfort, but he was willing to take what he could get.

The bathroom door clicking shut behind him did almost nothing to muffle the man’s horrendous screaming, and the longer Draco heard it the more he could feel the bile trying to rise into his throat. He still had nightmares about the first days after Voldemort decided to take up residence in his family’s ancestral home. Listening to the torture victims only brought those memories back to the surface of his thoughts.

The pain of receiving the Dark Mark was the sharpest and most disgusting of them all. It had literally seared itself into his skin, and he could still smell the burning flesh if he concentrated hard enough or got too lost in his thoughts. He remembered hearing other Death Eater’s talk about the glory of being part of the Dark Lord’s chosen. That was enough to make him scoff. What glory? The only glory in being a Death Eater was knowing you would die, and more than likely at the Dark Lord’s own hand. Being chosen to become a monster, there was no glory in that.

Then there was the torture. Merlin, the torture sessions had been- there were no words to describe what those had been like. Part of Draco’s initiation had been to learn how to torture people. The Dark Lord had assigned Bellatrix, his Aunt, to mentor him in the ways of delivering pain. It had eaten up an entire month of his summer last year, and every day had been a very bloody nightmare. He’d been forced to learn simpler things like the Cruciatus Curse, and while it had been hard it was nothing compared to the muggle methods he’d also had to learn.

Draco felt the color drain from his face as he remembered all the ways he had learned to use knifes, fire, ice and many more things to bring people to new levels of suffering. Draco couldn’t even think about adhesives anymore because that made him see all the people whose eyes he had glued open, preventing them from sleeping. Most of them had lost their minds due to the paranoia that prolonged exhaustion had brought on.

There had been so many times Draco wanted to refuse to do it, to say that doing this to people was revolting, but the lives of his parents were on the line every waking moment. Aunt Bella had been proud of him- Draco would never understand her particular brand of insanity- and her good word was keeping his family and himself alive. That was all that mattered. That was all that could be allowed to matter.

The blood-curdling shrieks finally died away. Draco sighed in relief, and then felt a pang of guilt because that meant that the man was probably dead. He had no right to be glad that yet another person had died here, especially in what had most assuredly been a sickening death. Beyond painful and drawn out for far too long. Draco lunged for the toilet, unable to force the bile down again.

Draco’s throat burned like he had just gulped an entire bottle of Firewhiskey as his empty stomach purged again and again. With no food or drink in his body the only thing that came up was the putrid acids of his digestive system. Tears welled up in his eyes and he choked out a sob between heaves. He spit into the toilet and flushed it when his stomach finally started to settle and took a few moments to just breathe before casting a breath freshening charm and herding himself into the shower.

The water was like a warm welcome, a sweet retreat into a place where none of the horrors he lived through everyday existed. It washed away the uncomfortable sweat in his hair and rid him of the last traces of vomit. He splashed more of the water over his cold cheeks, reveling in the warmth as it woke him up and renewed his spirits. It wasn’t much, but this was the only time he felt anything close to peace in his own home.

Draco had learned to appreciate small moments such as these. Times when he could imagine that the Dark Lord wasn’t in his home and there were no expectations were far and few between. He piled a small amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand and sighed as he massaged it into his hair. He quickly washed it out but the sense of normalcy it brought him was worth having to rush himself. Knowing he had time for little else if he was to see his parents this morning he stepped back out into the chilling air of the bathroom. The atmosphere outside of the shower was cold and uneasy. Draco could nearly feel all the lives that had been lost here.

Draco shuddered as he dressed himself and quickly strode out of the bathroom. Most of the Dark Lord’s followers preferred dark places, ironic as that was, so as Draco walked through the halls hardly any of the lights were on and all of the curtains were shut. They had been closed for so long that dust had begun to layer on them. Every time his Mother saw them she needed to shut her eyes and push down her annoyance. Draco could sympathize with her, as it was repulsive to him as well to see their home in this state.

“Good morning, Draco.” His Mother greeted him as he walked into one of the smaller dining rooms. There was an edge to her voice that he was still not used to hearing, and it always made him more uneasy. It meant that his Mother was concerned enough about something that it reflected in her voice.

“Good morning, Mother. Did you sleep well?” Though he knew the real answer it was a question he had always asked his Mother since before his first year at Hogwarts.

His Mother graced him with a small smile and Draco was glad to feel the comfort it brought him. “Well enough,” She said. “Please, join me. Your Father should be here shortly.”

Draco inclined his head, allowing the years of training in civility and mannerisms flow back into his body. It was something subtle and familiar to him, and to some- his Mother for one- it was considered a form of artistry. As he was seated he heard his Father approach and exchanged some rather empty pleasantries with him. Other than the occasional word exchanged between him and his Mother the table was close to silent.

As always, the elves took away their empty dishes. His Father tensed, but stood and left the room without a word to Draco. Where most children might have been affronted by this behavior Draco understood its meaning. His Father was beyond concerned for him. Today would be his first time meeting the Dark Lord alone, and no matter how much other people thought he only cared about money and power, he really only did it to secure the future of his family.

Draco said a brief good-bye to his Mother and then stood to face reality.

The pace of his heart sped up as he remembered that he would have to walk across the first floor of the Manor and right past the ballroom. It was the room now used for torturing the prisoners of war. As he got closer to that room the air around him felt like it was changing. It became harder to breath; it was a struggle to keep it even. The worst part was the bitter tang he could taste all around him. Draco felt as if his mouth were full of knuts.

He ignored all the images and memories that tried to pry their way to the surface. It was for the best if he thought of absolutely nothing until he was safely out of the Dark Lord’s presence. He was, after all, notorious for using Legilimency on the people he suspected of being weak or less than loyal. Traitors especially were not tolerated. Sometimes he would just beat the fear out of the weaker Death Eaters. Draco could admit he was a coward, and he wanted to protect himself from either of those fates.

The entire Manor reeked of dark magic. There really was no mistaking it. It felt like slime on his skin and the power that remained in the air long after those distinct spells were cast could be felt like a constant presence against his skull. Almost like a hat, it tried to wrap around his head. Draco resisted the urge to shake his head as he stepped into the wing belonging to the Dark Lord. It was a place where those sensations were especially strong.

Draco felt his senses heighten as he entered an area where some of the most loyal and most dangerous Death Eaters also resided. The Lestrange’s and the Carrow’s were among Draco’s least favorite to run into. He nearly jumped when he heard a disturbingly high pitched cackle from a room off to his right.

This was _his_ home, and there should be nothing here that could scare him.

It wasn’t at all true, but Draco knew he needed to act like it was. If there was ever a time for him to embrace a perfect blend of his parents’ ideals now was really the time to do it.

He saw the door he was heading towards at the end of the hall. Like all the doors in the Manor it was nice, made of some of the finest mahogany wood. What was different about this door was the holes torn through it by curses the Dark Lord had thrown around. Sometimes in anger, other times he had aimed to kill someone. Draco desperately hoped he’d never be on the other end of one of those curses. Through one of the holes he could see Nagini slither forwards to greet him. The snake was strange, but it had never scared Draco. In fact, as long as the Dark Lord didn’t command it to kill anyone it seemed perfectly harmless. He just needed to try to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces.

He opened the door and Nagini gently hissed at him. “Is that you, Draco, my dear boy?” While the words themselves were kind enough, the slightly maniacal tone was sufficient to send a shiver up his spine. Draco swallowed his emotions as best he could and swiftly responded. The Dark Lord despised having to wait.

“Yes, my lord.”

The Dark Lord chuckled. “Then come closer. I don’t wish to speak to you across a room.” Draco obeyed without hesitation, silently displeased that he couldn’t avoid seeing a face that haunted some of his nightmares.

The Dark Lord’s face was horrifying. He was ghostly pale, his skin translucent enough in some places that you could see the veins beneath the skin. His eyes didn’t glow like many people had taken to saying they did, but they were a bright red. Draco had always thought they matched his blood thirsty nature. Then there was his nose, or lack thereof. He simply had nothing there and you could see the bones of his skull right where something should be. It was sickening, and Draco had to wonder if he’d ever tried to get his nose back. Because who would want to walk around without one?

A cold, long nailed finger extended out and caressed his cheek after he had approached and kneeled before the Dark Lord. His skin crawled wherever that finger touched him, and it was all Draco could do not to wince.

“I trust you know by now why you are here?” Though it was phrased as a question, it was anything but.

Draco forced his voice not to tremble as he spoke. “You have finally deemed me worthy of my first task. Am I correct, my lord?” To be safe, Draco bowed his head in respect, ignoring how much it disgusted him to do so.

That finger hooked under his chin, Draco could feel the nail dig into his skin, and lifted his face up so he was looking into the eyes of the Dark Lord. “You are correct. Please, stand Draco.” Draco stood, as did the Dark Lord who began walking in a leisurely circle around him. He continued facing forwards, unsure what would provoke the Dark Lord’s anger and not willing to risk anything.

“Seeing as you will be returning to Hogwarts for one final year I am appointing you a task of utmost importance. You _must_ complete this task or all of my work up to this point will have been for nothing, do you understand?” The Dark Lord made it sound as if his task was the key to his grand plan succeeding, and wasn’t that just great? Draco nodded his understanding and the Dark Lord smiled. “Good, good. Draco, my boy, you must find as many ways into that school as you can. The more people we can get inside before they notice the better.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Dark Lord, rather than looking at him in approval and dismissing him, turned to Draco and narrowed his eyes as if considering him. “That is not all,” he finally said. “You must repair the Vanishing Cabinet that is hidden in the school. It is the twin of the one from Borgin and Burkes. It will ultimately be the key. Can you do this?” His voice was a low hiss, and Draco had to fight to limit his body’s reaction to the skipping of his heart.

“Yes, my lord,” Draco responded. “It is not outside my ability.”

The Dark Lord smiled at him, and before Draco could even think of reacting he had pulled out his wand and hissed a curse at him. “Crucio.” Draco crumpled to the ground. Agonizing pain crept through every inch of his body. It went from his head, to his gut and the tips of his fingers and toes. Even in his mind he could feel the pain. He knew he was screaming, but by some miracle he was not crying.

The true suffering was feeling the pain pinch every corner of his mind, trying to make something snap. It tried ruthlessly to bend his mind to breaking point. It paled in comparison to everything else he was feeling, but he could feel the soreness of his lungs as he continued to scream. His voice was getting more primal sounding every second, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. It felt as if his nails were being torn off, his skin cut open, his eyes being burned and more than that all at one time.

Draco was barely able to contain the sigh of relief as the pain lessened and finally ebbed away. He heard the Dark Lord approach again before he saw him. Draco forced himself up and was quickly kneeling again, not wanting to provoke the Dark Lord further.

“That was to remind you of the consequences should you fail. However, next time it will be your parents instead of you. And I may not be so merciful with them. I might decide to see how long they can tolerate it.” The Dark Lord bent low and hissed the words into his ear. Draco nodded.

“I understand, my lord.”

The Dark Lord stood straight again and seemed to consider him. Draco eagerly awaited his dismissal. The tremor he could feel in his arms was getting worse and he was starting to have difficulty subduing it. Then the Dark Lord let out a low laugh, and Draco had never felt so cold. It wasn’t a physical chill, but he felt it so deeply that he thought he could feel it in his bones. He recognized it for what it was; a frightening combination of horror and despair.

“You may go,” He finally said, and it was all Draco could manage to calmly stand up, bow to the Dark Lord and appear to walk calmly out. He really just wanted to sprint all the way back to his room.

When he was safely behind his bedroom door he let out a shaky breath and slid down to the floor. He took a few minutes to just get the shaking out of his system. His hands shook badly, and he could even feel the muscles in his legs vibrating.

Eventually, Draco bottled up the feelings again and told himself that he needed to act as I everything was normal. Wallowing for too long was always dangerous. He was going to Hogwarts tomorrow, where he would at least be away from the building full of Death Eaters that he called home.

Draco stood back up, brushing off his pants and walked back out the door. Instead of going to the first floor though, he remained on the second floor and went to the family library. He needed to pick out books to bring with him for when he had time to himself.

From the moment he entered the library though Draco noticed something off. For one, there was intense dark magic in the room. The familiar sliminess crawled over his skin. Draco shivered. The other clue that something was wrong was the little black book sitting by itself on one of the end tables. It was an old looking book, the cover was well-worn. Yet, it wasn’t a book he had ever seen in the Malfoy library.

Against his better judgment, Draco decided to walk up to the book. The pages appeared to be thoroughly yellowed and it didn’t close all the way.

Draco reached out and opened the book, more than curious about a book he’d never seen in his family’s own library in previous years. Despite its obvious usage it was oddly blank on every single page. He looked carefully at the yellowed pages. They were even tattered in places. The thing had to be ages old, but there was no reason for anyone to keep a blank book around.

Then something happened, which both fascinated Draco and also struck terror in him. Words appeared in the book. And it looked as if the book was trying to communicate with him of all things.

_Hello. Who are you?_


	2. The Boy in the Book

Draco resisted his instincts, which told him to slam the book shut and throw it across the room. He stared at the words on the page. There was no denying that the book was trying to communicate with him, but for what purpose, Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know. After all, it wasn’t exactly commonplace to find a seemingly sentient book. On the other hand, when had anything about his life been commonplace as of late?

  
_I’ve said hello. It’s rude to ignore a greeting, you know._

  
Yes, the book was writing to him. He was surprised to find that the previous words disappeared just before the new ones revealed themselves. A torrent of thoughts raged through Draco’s mind. This couldn’t be safe. This book quite frankly scared him.

  
But Draco was alone in his struggle. No matter how much his parents and friends tried to support him this was a journey that he had to embark on alone. And for the last year he had succumbed to the idea that his life was no longer his to control and that he would be doomed no matter the outcome. He wanted to take charge of his future and change something, even in this miniscule fashion.

  
And although the odds were against him he couldn’t help thinking that maybe this could result in him not having to walk alone anymore.

  
He was sure to be berated by whoever was trying to converse with him, but nevertheless he shut the book none too gently and hid it in one of his pockets. He turned to the bookshelves and searched for the books he had come for in the first place. Books on enchanting furniture and repairing magical artifacts. Draco had no bag to put the books in, so he carried them carefully in his arms, nearly dropping them as he tried to open doors.

  
Back in his room he placed the books on his bed, unconcerned with them for now since they were destined for his trunk. He’d managed to grab five rather thick tomes, three of them centered on the process of creating repairing and destroying artifacts. It seemed like the kind of material that would belong to one of those Unspeakables that worked in the Department of Mysteries.

  
He walked from the bed over to a desk he had against a wall somewhat close to the fireplace and fished the small tattered book from the pocket of his robes. He stared at it for several seconds before gingerly placing it on the desk and taking a seat himself. Draco felt the cover of the book. It was a rough leathery material. He flipped open the book and tried to ignore the discontent he felt when there was no greeting. He picked up the quill on the desk and dipped it in the inkwell.

  
_Hello._

  
Draco waited a few moments, but just when he was starting to think he hallucinated before a response revealed itself on the page.

  
_Hello…_

  
Draco gasped and studied the handwriting. It was fairly messy compared to his, but he supposed he had seen worse. Crabbe’s and Goyle’s handwriting was a prime example. And without anymore hesitation he responded.

  
_I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I only ignored you at first because I was startled, and then because I wanted to bring this talking book to my private rooms._

  
Draco was fairly anxious. Regardless of the fact that no one ever entered his rooms Draco worried that today could be the day it happened. Even his mother would always knock before coming in to speak with him, and with how proficient some of the Death Eater’s are with Legilimency he was not willing to bet his life on his secrets being safe. And he was almost entirely convinced that this was a book he was not supposed to have. However, forfeiting what had the possibility to turn into a valuable treasure was not something he was prepared to do either. He had his father to thank for the questionable possessiveness.

  
Draco swallowed roughly as he felt his fear swell inside of him. He briefly shut his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together. When he opened them again he saw new words on the page. Momentarily he seemed to forget how to breathe, but he knew it was only shock. Inked on the page were words that he had been utterly convinced he would never see.

  
_My name is Harry Potter. Assuming that you won’t shut me up again I’d like to know who I’m talking to._

  
Harry Potter. He was talking to Harry Potter? Draco was halfway tempted to believe it, if only for something to actually believe in again. There was no way there was any truth to it though. Harry Potter had been brutally murdered in their second year at Hogwarts, and by none other than the Dark Lord. If there was anything he knew it was that the Dark Lord wouldn’t lie about conquering his enemies.

  
What Draco also had to deal with were the feelings that came back to him when he heard the name Potter. He and Potter hadn’t exactly gotten along in school, and Draco was reluctant to admit it, but he was more than a little ashamed of the way he had acted towards Potter and his friends. Okay, maybe not towards the Weasel as much as the muggleborn know-it-all, but the sentiment was the same. Not to mention the slug incident in second year that had been fairly entertaining.

  
Draco took a few moments, confronting the feelings that inevitably came with thinking about Potter. It was honestly a subject he tried rather hard to avoid. Something he found undeniable were the sparks of hope that seemed to come without warning or permission. He muted those feelings as much as he could. For all he knew this was a complete farce, but he had to decide how to proceed.

  
He undoubtedly was able to reach a decision about the situation, and there were two ways he could angle his approach. He pinched the bridge of his nose before picking up the quill and decided on the route of caution.

  
_I’m sure you won’t fault me if I tell you I’m hesitant to believe you. As far as the wizarding world is concerned Harry Potter died five years ago._

  
The next words from Potter came slowly, but Draco could almost feel the irritation pouring out of the page.

  
_I’m well aware of that. But it seems that instead of dying I got stuck with the much more annoying fate of being stuck in a bloody book!_ There was a pause here, but before Draco could start his next reply the words continued to flow. _Look, I can prove I’m Harry Potter, but before I risk what little existence I have left I’d like to know who I’m talking to._

  
There was little pause to think after Draco read the reply. He didn’t want to give himself a chance to think about this. For once in his life he wanted to commit to something and damn the consequences so before there was room for thought and doubt he forced himself to write. _Draco Malfoy._

  
Draco waited and waited and after a couple of minutes there was still no reply. He felt his heart sink in disappointment, but what had he really expected? There were few people in wizarding society who would look upon that name kindly. Most were among his circle of friends, and all the rest were adults who thought they were being generous by waiting until he was of age before shoving their prejudices on him like they did to his parents.

  
He put the stopper back on the inkwell and laid down his quill with a sigh. Even with the nagging doubts in his mind he couldn’t help believing on some level that whoever was talking to him really was Potter, and he felt like he had just been slapped across the face with a rejection that apparently didn’t even merit words. Even the great Harry Potter didn’t think he was worth the time of day. Well isn’t that just peachy, Draco thought sarcastically.

  
It wasn’t exactly a profound discovery however. Everyone had either seen or heard of Potter rejecting him on the train in their first year. In hindsight he hadn’t exactly been kind or charming, but he had been hurt all the same. He had been offended that Potter hadn’t even given him a chance, but instead clung to the Weasel and trusted him to guide him through a world he knew next to nothing about.

  
He was about to grab the book to shut it again and gasped when he saw words appearing almost hesitantly across the page.

  
_Malfoy_ , Potter said at first. _You were the one always causing trouble for me and my friends._ Draco flinched when he read these words. He had been hoping that Potter would conveniently forget about that, but he’d been realistic enough not to count it as a true possibility. _I don’t really know if I can trust you, but I suppose I’ve already come too far by telling you who I am._

  
Merlin Draco felt ridiculous. He blinked several times to prevent his eyes from welling up. They were simple words and cautious at best, but Draco’s heart swelled when he saw that Potter was willing to give him a chance. Harry Potter of all people was willing to do what no one else would. Potter would talk to him and view him with only the judgments he himself had earned.

  
He unstopped the inkwell again, taking a moment to just breathe when his shaking hands nearly tipped it over. His giddiness, as loathe as he was to call it by that name, was entirely uncalled for. Potter’s words were not things that should summon such a strong response in him. When Draco thought about it however, he could admit that perhaps he was feeling a tad neglected in the emotional support department. He could let it pass this time, but he told himself that future divergence from his normal reactions couldn’t be allowed. He wouldn’t permit Potter to hold so much sway over him.

  
_I’m not exactly the same person you knew back in second year_. Draco finally wrote. _With the proper chance I can prove that to you._ Draco rested his chin on his index finger as he considered the chances of the method he was planning actually succeeding. Deciding the outcome was worth the risk he dived in. _Can we start now? Possibly with you showing me what happened to you as you agreed to?_

  
The response wasn’t immediate, but it was quick enough to satisfy Draco.

  
_Yes._

  
He was really just expecting pictures to appear on the page or something similar to that. Instead, what he got was a blinding golden light and a feeling that he could only compare to the very first moments of apparition. When he opened his eyes again he curled his lip in disgust. It looked like he was in the middle of a large sewer, and the only thing missing was the scent of sewage.

  
He stood in a large chamber, at the feet of a rather large statue. Next to him on the ground was a twelve year old Potter, who was kneeling next to a deathly pale and unconscious Ginny Weasley. And standing in front of them was a boy who couldn’t be more than a year younger than himself, quite handsome and well kept but he was surrounded by a silver haze. Besides the haze he looked very corporeal, so Draco excluded the possibility of him being a ghost.

  
It took Draco a moment more to realize that the strange boy was talking. “She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn’t much life left in her…” His tone was oddly pleasant, and that voice reminded him of something. Draco wasn’t sure who or what that was but it made him uneasy. That smile didn’t help matters any.

  
He looked like he was going to continue, but Harry shouted at him before he could. “There has to be a way to save her! Tell me how to save Ginny!”

  
The boy’s smile turned vicious and Draco’s unease was more than doubled. He thought he knew exactly who this boy reminded him of and he didn’t like it at all. “Tell me Harry,” He said slowly, like he was taking great pleasure from this moment, “who do you think I am?” Harry looked at the ground and appeared to think about that. Draco frowned deeply. It was an odd question and one that ordinarily wouldn’t serve a greater purpose. But if his suspicions were correct than Harry was about to receive a huge surprise.

  
“I don’t know. I only know you as Tom Riddle. Is that your real name?” Harry answered reluctantly, looking up once more. Every so often his gaze flickered between this Riddle character and the Weasley girl.

  
Riddle glided a wand through the air that Draco hadn’t noticed before and a vaporous name appeared in the air.  
Tom Marvolo Riddle.

  
He moved the wand again after a few seconds and the letters rearranged themselves. Draco felt as if his heart stopped.  
I am Lord Voldemort.

  
“Voldemort.” Harry spat out the name with vehemence. Draco backed away a step; though it made no difference it made him feel just a little better. Potter on the other hand did no such thing. “Just tell me how to save her. I’ll do anything to save Ginny.” Potter’s words were low and soft. He sounded resigned in a way.

  
Voldemort smiled. It was both difficult and easy for Draco to imagine this boy as the Dark Lord. For one, he couldn’t have always been horrendously ugly and disfigured. But Draco had a hard time picturing him as a dark wizard. He looked every bit the model student, but his words were proving otherwise.

  
“Take her place and I’ll let her go.” Riddle said brightly, as if his idea was pure genius. Harry nodded and Riddle waved the wand again. Draco was impressed that he could cast complicated non-verbal spells. It quickly turned to mortification when Harry keeled over as Ginny Weasley started regaining her color and slowly awakened.

  
Her eyes opened and darted around in a crazed fashion. When they landed on Riddle she sat up and started backing away. After a bit of the awkward shuffling her eyes darted over to Harry. She began to whimper in a way that told Draco it might turn into a scream. Riddle smirked darkly at her. “Run,” he whispered. The way he said it made it sound to Draco like he thought this was a game.

  
Weasley scrambled to her feet and bolted as quickly as she could from the chamber. Riddle then turned to face Potter’s comatose body. “Don’t worry Harry. Your soul will be sucked into the diary, where it will live forever. I’ll leave your body; I have no use for it now that you’re out of the way.”

  
Riddle started laughing, and it was almost identical to the crazed laughter he sometimes heard from the Dark Lord.

  
The flash of light and tugging sensation he had felt when he entered returned and within moments he was back in Malfoy Manor in the relative safety of his rooms. Draco’s feelings were conflicted and thoughts kept racing around. Potter wasn’t dead, though he might as well be as it looked like his soul had been sucked straight out of his body. A part of him dared to think that hope wasn’t dead. If a piece of Potter was still around then maybe there was a chance to defeat the Dark Lord. Maybe there was, but not for certain.

  
_Do you believe me now?_

  
Draco picked up the quill that had fallen unceremoniously onto the desk when he viewed Potter’s memory.

  
_Yes_ , Draco began. _I don’t suppose that you know of any way to escape from the book?_

  
_No._ Potter’s response was swift, but it left Draco suspecting that he was feeling a bit helpless in this situation. _The only way I know out of here involves killing someone like Voldemort did._

  
There was a knock on the door and his father’s voice came through the door. “Draco, I must speak with you.” Draco almost slammed the book shut, but remembered to jot down a hasty explanation.

  
_I have to go. My father is coming and I don’t want you discovered._ Draco wasted no time in waiting for a reply. He shut the book, with notably less force than before, and called out to his father.

  
“Just a moment, Father, I’m putting my quills in my trunk.” Just to err on the side of caution he really did throw the quills in his trunk along with the small black book so his father wouldn’t see either sitting out in the open before going to let him in.

  
Draco opened the door and his father stood there, the perfect image of calm regality. Lucius leveled him with a cool gaze and Draco struggled not to squirm under that look. “Please, come in,” Draco greeted. He knew his father normally wouldn’t mind waiting for a few moments so this kind of reaction must mean it was something vital that he was here for.

  
His father stepped far enough into the room to allow Draco to shut the door, but he didn’t make any further move besides turning to face his son. “Draco, you know already that you have the best chances of any of your classmates to survive this war.” Lucius’ tone was grave, something he didn’t hear often from either of his parents. He nodded, unsure of what to expect from this conversation.

  
“I’m afraid, as your parents, your mother and I have done all we can to protect you.” Draco’s heart sank. Were they abandoning him? His father made it sound like they were done with him and that they knew he was going to die.

  
He had no time to filter the words before they slipped through his lips. “But Father!” His father held up his hand, a sign Draco knew to mean that he should stop talking. He listened, but it was no easy feat.

  
Lucius lowered his hand and waited patiently for Draco to calm himself. “I know you must feel panicked enough given our current situation. I fear this will not make you feel any better.” Draco eyed his father warily. Feeling worn down was not something he was accustomed to, but it seemed that it was all he was capable of in this home. “I do not mean that we are abandoning you. However, we have done all we can to try and support you. You are going back to Hogwarts tomorrow and you now have your own task to complete.”

  
Draco nodded, wishing that he didn’t know where this was going. They weren’t abandoning him, and that was important. He would still have their emotional support, though it would mean less when he was at Hogwarts and wouldn’t even be able to owl them on a regular basis. They were still there for him, but they had done all they could and spared him everything it was possible to spare him from. The rest was up to him now.

  
“I understand, Father.” Draco said bitterly, unable to keep the frown off of his face.

  
Lucius nodded. “I know you do. That is why you must do whatever you can to preserve the family. Do whatever it takes to stay alive. Complete your task and earn the Dark Lord’s favor,” Draco was startled when his father reached out and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You are my son and a Malfoy,” he stated. “You can do this. I know you are capable.”

  
It wasn’t often that he and his father had moments like this. Normally his confidence in Draco’s abilities went without saying. It was one of those things that didn’t need to be put into words. That he said it now told Draco how grave times were getting and just how much depended on him.

  
Draco composed himself and looked at his father. “I will bring honor to the name of Malfoy.” His father nodded again, satisfied that Draco understood and let himself out.  
Draco sighed when he was sure his father was gone. He was so tired of this war. He at least knew that the school would be safe for at least part of the year. How long, he wasn’t certain, but he would be able to relax more there than at home. That thought saddened him, but he tried to hold onto the faith that he would be able to feel safe here again one day.

  
Draco was certain that if his father had sought him out than his mother would undoubtedly want to see him before he left. Apprehension washed over him at the mere notion of leaving his rooms; nevertheless his mother was worth the effort. He thought she might be in the gardens. It was one of the few places that the Death Eaters rarely ventured.

  
“Is that little baby Draco I see?” As Draco reached the stairs he heard the high pitched and demented tone of his Aunt Bellatrix. His muscles tightened and his heart raced. However, he forced himself to remain calm and turn to face her.

  
Bellatrix had always frightened Draco to no end. Everything about her from the psychotic lilt in her voice to the predatory fashion in which she walked set Draco on edge. That was how she was walking towards him now, practically stalking Draco as if she were a lion in the Savannah that had spotted an excellent source of food. He could feel the muscles in his legs twitching and just waiting to break out into a sprint.

  
Bellatrix approached him reaching out and sliding her fingers over his cheek, letting the nails gently graze the skin. Draco was barely able to keep from shuddering. His heart was thudding painfully just under his ribcage and causing his breathing to become deep and shallow. “I hear that you’ve finally earned the privilege of your first task, little Draco,” Bellatrix said, eyes wide and a feral smile covering her pale face.

  
Draco nodded, speaking not appealing to him as a great option. Bellatrix than reached up and yanked his head back by his hair. He didn’t make any noise, but his eyes widened before he could stop them. His scalp burned with the force she was using to keep his head up. Her wand was out and pointed at his throat in the next few seconds and she was whispering in his ear. “Don’t fail the Dark Lord, little Draco. I will personally make sure you regret any betrayal before our Lord puts you out of your misery.” She gave his hair a final tug before releasing it. She took her wand pack a few inches before letting some sparks fly out of the end as a warning. Some touched his neck and stung the skin. He refused to rub the skin though, knowing it would only serve to goad her on.

  
Seeing that she wasn’t going to accomplish any more here, Bellatrix holstered her wand, turned on her heel and walked off. Her wild hair bobbed around her head as she strode away. Draco finally allowed his shoulders to sag when she was out of sight. His hands began to shake, and he rubbed the sore area of his head. He only gave himself that moment to let his fear show, and was just as soon traversing down the stairs to find his mother.

  
Draco had always understood that his aunt was someone not to be trifled with. His mother explained to him that she was on just the wrong side of insane. He remembered all the sessions with his parents when they would train him in how to act around the Dark Lord and some of the more prominent Death Eaters. Around the Dark Lord, he recalled, be polite and appear willing to do whatever he asks. Always address him as your lord. The Carrows only wanted apparent willingness to torture anyone. His aunt valued fearlessness and dedication to both the dark arts and the Dark Lord. He wasn’t much good at feigned courage, but he could pass himself off as someone with dedication to the Dark Lord and interest in the dark arts.

  
None of that had prepared him for the experience of actually meeting these people. The Dark Lord paralyzed him with terror. He never had a doubt that if he failed to appear promising or being useful in some way that the Dark Lord would dispose of him like he had so many others. His aunt was something else however. Though she was not as bad as the Dark Lord she was his second in command for a reason.

  
From what his mother had told him Bellatrix had gone insane in Azkaban, but had always held an unhealthy obsession with the dark arts. It had tainted her mind long before Azkaban had driven her over the edge. These days her latest obsession seemed to be with the Dark Lord himself. And Draco didn’t want to think of what a partnership like that could result in. The world was bleak enough as is in Draco’s opinion.

  
Draco opened the doors leading out to the gardens and almost instantly spotted her sitting on a bench overlooking the azaleas. The flowers and various plants surrounding the manor swarmed his senses. The rich scent of flowers, vibrant colors and the sweet breeze that blew through the grounds. It all coalesced into a small sanctuary, a place where one could forget the troubles that surrounded them. It brought a sense of peace that Draco hadn’t felt in what seemed to be millennia.

  
Narcissa Malfoy was a Malfoy in every sense of the word. Her posture implied regality while remaining open and welcoming. Her gaze was deceptive, never divulging her thoughts or opinions. She was also graceful in every way it could be meant. When she spoke her personality shined and anyone could see she was elegant and charming. With every fluid movement she seemed to flow like water, nimble and poised on her feet. She was every bit the Lady Malfoy and Draco loved her dearly.

  
Today she wore deep purple robes that made a striking contrast with her stormy eyes and blond hair. Draco let out a relieved sigh, calmed by the minute details that did not change no matter what the times were. Possibly hearing him, she turned around and cast her gaze on him. Draco gave a small smile and inclined his head towards her in greeting.

  
“Draco,” She said, voice unusually taut, “will you not sit with me and watch the azaleas?” Before he could answer, as she always did, she turned back to the garden. He could only guess that she was concerned about something. He allowed his feet to carry him to the bench and fell into place beside his mother.

  
Draco reached out and placed his hand on hers. She turned to scan his face, and Draco’s suspicions were confirmed by the odd rigidity of her face. “What is troubling you, Mother?” Draco asked curiously. Anything that bothered his mother so deeply was, by design, a concern of his.

  
Narcissa let out a soft, gentle laugh as she looked away from Draco once more. “Have I let it become so obvious that even my son can tell I am distressed?” Draco tightened his grip on her hand slightly.

  
“I’ve known you for the entirety of my life,” Draco stated, choosing to begin with a fact that could not be refuted. “If I did not know how to read your feelings by now then I would consider myself a poor son.”

  
His mother looked up at him again and graced him with a soft smile. “And I would consider myself a poor mother for failing to teach you the subtle nuances of emotion.” Draco let his grasp loosen, feeling reassured by the amalgamation of his mother’s words and her smile.

  
Draco returned his mother’s smile. Talking with her was always relaxing in a way that nothing else was able to emulate. He could remember going off to Hogwarts when he was eleven and waiting, nearly with bated breath, for each letter she would send him. He enjoyed receiving letters from his father too, but he and his mother had always had a deeper relationship. That feeling hadn’t faded, and despite the situation they were now in he felt like it made him treasure moments like this more than before.  
Just when he was sure his mother was done speaking he heard her voice again. “Draco, what do you value right now above all else?” This wasn’t a question Draco had an immediate answer to, and he had to sit silently for several moments to consider the question.

  
In this moment what was most important to him? It was one of the more peculiar questions that only his mother would ask him. He valued his life, which was a big one right now, without a doubt. He saw his mother considering him. He valued his family too. He was unsure how he would manage to cope if his family wasn’t here with him. It was one reason he was feeling insecure about returning to Hogwarts this year. And after dealing with a home full of the Dark Lord and his followers he was sure that security would be on that list too. He was unsure if he valued any one of those above all else though, so he decided to put them all together.

  
“I value our lives. Our lives, our family and our security, they are all equally important to me.” Draco said with resolve.

  
His mother sighed, as if it wasn’t the answer he was supposed to give. He arched a single eyebrow, a near perfect imitation of both his parents. “That is was you were reared to value. That is all we ever wanted you to need to value.” His mother’s voice was melancholic, her mind drifting back to simpler days. “Times have changed,” She continued, sounding more resolved. “The passage of time demands changes in us as well. As a result, your values must change. They are true and noble, I have no doubt in that, but they will not aid you in survival.”

  
Draco frowned. If his values were what his mother had always wanted them to be then he had trouble understanding why she said they needed to be different. “What do you mean?” He asked in the midst of his confusion.

  
His mother frowned, like his lack of understanding was a fault of hers. Draco thought that was ridiculous, but he didn’t say as much. “Your life, and only yours, is what is important now. You must do whatever is needed in the name of preserving your life.” Draco nodded in acknowledgement. “But there are many facets to survival. I want you to focus on two of them. Preserving your life and retaining the ability to live with yourself.”

  
The last part reminded Draco of a time when his mother had been teaching him the meaning of morals and values. It was the last time he could ever recall her saying anything about being able to live with himself. It had been an age old lesson, one he had rarely needed repeated in his youth. He didn’t understand the purpose of that here however.

  
She must have noticed his puzzlement for she continued her explanation. “Survival, Draco, is not only about staying alive with a working mind and a beating heart.” This time she tightened her grip in his hand and looked out to the flowers again, letting the breeze caress her face. “It involves the constitution of your soul. To look back on what you have done. To process what it took for you to reach that point and move beyond it to be at peace with yourself, and lay your demons to rest. Would you be living if you were plagued by the irreparable wounds that you had inflicted on others?”

  
Times like these his mother’s wisdom never failed to astound him. He shook his head in response to his mother’s question. He joined her in looking out at the gardens. He watched the flowers flow peacefully in the wind. He wanted his life to someday be that peaceful and effortless, and he knew in that moment why this was one of her favorite places to be. He didn’t think anyone could sit here and not feel at least somewhat peaceful. No other words were spoken between them. They simply sat together watching the azaleas.

  
Nothing else was needed because they already knew certain things without the need to put them into words.

  
Draco was lying in bed that night staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. His parents had given him drastically differing advice. His father warned against failing the task set for him. His mother though had told him that he should value his life and conscience above all else. That surviving this war was not only a matter of following orders, but being able to live with himself when it was all said and done. The ideologies clashed and warred with one another in his mind until he started to get a headache.

  
And still, Draco did not know which way his heart was swayed.

  
He thought of Potter then, the boy who had survived the Dark Lord twice before meeting his end. That had been the greatest misconception of all. The boy who had gotten trapped inside a book at the age of twelve, this was what he knew now to be the truth. He was trapped, but still alive in some sense of the word.

  
Draco shut his eyes at last, thinking that possibly he just wanted to be alive when it all ended.


End file.
